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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29317749">for a minute there, I lost myself</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadCaffeineJunkie/pseuds/DeadCaffeineJunkie'>DeadCaffeineJunkie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Barry (TV 2018), Generation Kill, IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Assassins &amp; Hitmen, Brad Colbert is Unimpressed, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Contract Killers, Crossovers &amp; Fandom Fusions, Dreams and Nightmares, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Iraq War, Lives Separate and Intersect, M/M, Magically Induced Amnesia, Memory Magic, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Stanley Uris Lives, War in Afghanistan, mostly nightmares</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:35:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29317749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadCaffeineJunkie/pseuds/DeadCaffeineJunkie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alien-Demon-Clown magic sets in after leaving Derry - amnesiac Richie grows up to be ex-Marine and hoping-to-be-ex-Hitman Barry Berkman, while Eddie Kaspbrak grows up to be ex-Marine and doesn't-mind-being-a-hitman Ray Person. </p>
<p>Everything's going well until a phone call from an old friend cracks the illusion and starts letting the demons back out. </p>
<p>Also Brad is there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barry Berkman/Ray Person, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, past/casual Brad Colbert/Ray Person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>for a minute there, I lost myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from 'Karma Police' by Radiohead</p>
<p>Tags subject to addition, all canon-typical though</p>
<hr/>
<p>Disclaimer: I did (three days of) research to get the timelines and locations and whatnot straight for when Barry and Ray (as they were) served in Afghanistan and Iraq - Ray is part of 1st Recon Battalion, which is under the command of the 1st Marine Division.  It could have been that Barry was also stationed there during Operation Iraqi Freedom, however, it's more likely that Barry was part of the 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marines taking into account his presence during the incident at Korengal Valley - I think.</p>
<p>This screwed me.</p>
<p>Also, if Barry was in Cleveland before he went into training he would have been an East Coast graduate at Camp Geiger, and we know that Ray was a graduate at Camp Pendleton, so they wouldn't have met there. In order to work around this I'm going to shut my eyes and ignore the details. Please don't shout at me, I'm herding cats here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Get out of here, Barry. Never come back."</p>
<p>The last words that Barry's acting teacher, Gene Cousineau, had said to him echoed around in Barry's head as though there was nothing else in there to absorb it. There had been a low-grade buzzing like TV static in Barry's head ever since his former handler/mentor/father-figure Fuches had escaped Barry's rampage. </p>
<p>Other people said that they saw red when they felt rage like that, but Barry had always seen white - a soundless isolated place of pure intent. His focus telescoped down to a single target and blinded him to everything else, including reasoning and recognition. He'd always return to himself surrounded by the consequences of his actions and feel horror and guilt over what he'd done, always too late to fix it.</p>
<p>He was left an aching shell, a familiar place, trying not to look directly at the still burning core of fury that was now his relationship with Fuches. He'd retreated to Gene instead, Gene who Fuches had punished for the crime of being more loved by Barry, for taking his place as a father without knowing it. Visiting the man was like some sick act of self-flagellation, knowing he was responsible for Janice's death and the hole Gene had subsequently fallen into.</p>
<p>He'd expected the man to still be nearly catatonic in his grief and maybe some part of him hoped that this would be the end, that his teacher would have joined the dots and be waiting to have him arrested, or worse. </p>
<p>He hadn't expected to be pulled into Mr Cousineau's house by his sleeve and warned, in the usual florid but unusually panicked words, that fake detective 'Mr Goulet' was trying to frame Barry for Janice's death. Gene must have taken Barry's stunned silence for shock and had hustled his student out the door with a parting warning - "Get out of here, Barry. Never come back."</p>
<p>He might have come clean then, if not for the fact that he wouldn't be able to track Fuches down and kill him from prison.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had taken him nearly a year, but he'd finally run Fuches down to a non-descript house in an equally anonymous suburb where the man was pretending to be a 'consultant'. </p>
<p>Barry watched through his rifle scope as Fuches slept in until past midday, awoke and mooched around in a vest, bathrobe and underwear before settling in on the sofa to eat cereal and watch TV. That buzzing came back as Barry watched the man go about his life as though he hadn't ruined that of Mr Cousineau, and Barry's by extension.</p>
<p>He'd been lying just within range of his rifle, secreted away and unseen for hours when he saw movement in another room of the house. A small, slight figure crept into the kitchen with an easy stealth that immediately told Barry that this wasn't just a run of the mill burglar; he'd bet money on the fact that the mystery man had been military.</p>
<p>"Sorry man." he murmured to himself, lining up on Fuches - he'd kill the man and leave the stranger behind to take the fall. "This guy is mine."</p>
<p>"I don't think so."</p>
<p>A collected voice had Barry freeze where he was, mostly because he heard the click of a safety and could feel the press of a gun barrel pushing against the back of his head.</p>
<p>"Lower your weapon and put your hands up."</p>
<p>Deciding to bide his time and do as he was ordered, for now, Barry carefully placed his gun on the ground and lifted his hands, slow and easy. The hard dig of the gun against his head eased as the guy behind him stepped back.</p>
<p>"Turn around."</p>
<p>He readied himself to try and take the weapon from his captor as he turned, only to be thrown when he found that the guy was even taller than his own 6'1". </p>
<p>His momentary surprise had him frozen for a second; the man holding the gun on him had the blank mercenary expression he'd expect from someone with the skill to sneak up on him, but it crunched at the eyebrows as he watched.</p>
<p>"Lance Corporal Berkman?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Barry had started his army career just in time to take part in the war in Afghanistan, part of Operation Enduring Freedom. Twenty years old and fresh out of training, he was eager and apprehensive in nearly equal amounts - this is what he'd been trained for, of course his eagerness won out. </p>
<p>Despite being shot at and engaging enemies and living cheek to jowl with a number of other men for days, he didn't feel truly part of the war until his first kill. Crouched in a hide somewhere outside Sangin, lining up his shot from 700 yards away from the target and then successfully achieving a hit... and then another two... the jubilation of the other Marines made him feel a sense of purpose and community, the feeling that this was where he was supposed to be: it was the best day of his life. </p>
<p>It was around this time that he first came across a Recon sergeant whose reputation had even seeped through into the legends of RCT1 - the Iceman. In possession of preternatural composure in the midst of anything from a firefight to the utter chaos that the higher-ups could create, he was a man spoken of with awe and hero-worship by the other soldiers. </p>
<p>They spoke about his cold demeanour and his impatience for anyone he deemed useless, as well as his limited emotional range. They made him out to be some kind of robot, programmed to kill, and there was a rumour going around that he'd actually been built in some secret lab, some kind of Captain America super soldier shit.</p>
<p>And now he was standing face to face with Barry.</p>
<p>"You're the lance corporal who took out three targets from 700 yards." he stated more than asked, his tone as cool as his nickname suggested. Barry had some height to him but the Iceman was taller still. He was blond under his Kevlar and had the kind of blue eyes that made Barry briefly wonder if the rumours were true; eyes that could pierce through you like that, he had to be some kind of cyborg. </p>
<p>Barry, eyes wide and experiencing some strange mix of terror, awe and pride, nodded. "Yes Sir." </p>
<p>The last thing he expected was the subtle, but very much there, lift of the corner of the Iceman's mouth into a smile. "Good job soldier." </p>
<p>It was a little bit like watching images shift in the shapes of clouds, the Iceman suddenly as human as any other Marine. </p>
<p>"Hey Brad! These guys have got jalapeno and cheese!" A voice crowed, pronouncing jalapeno as it was spelled, before its owner appeared waving said MRE. </p>
<p>That voice tickled at something in Barry's head, some cobwebby place that Barry never looked into; it was familiar, but Barry wasn’t able to say why. </p>
<p>It took a moment for Barry to remember that he'd seen the little runt around Camp Pendleton and he decided that must be why he seemed so recognisable; that voice and its mile-a-minute verbosity was almost as infamous as the Iceman himself. </p>
<p>"Hand it over Ray." The Iceman - who was apparently named Brad, of all things - said, breaking Ray from the little trance he'd seemed to have fallen into looking at Barry. Barry could only imagine that he was going through the same kind of 'can't put my finger on it' recall that Barry had. </p>
<p>"Who said anything about it being yours?" Ray quipped even as he did as he'd been told, seemingly back in the room. </p>
<p>"Ray. You know jalapeno and cheese gives your weak, inbred, pussy digestive system heartburn and then you turn into a whiny little bitch for hours afterwards. I’m not going to subject the rest of us to that." Brad said in a condescending but still fond manner, also mispronouncing jalapeno; must be a Recon thing.</p>
<p>Ray's response was a huge sunny grin as though Brad hadn't just insulted him. </p>
<p>"Hey, you're the guy that took out those hajis right?" Another Marine walked up, snacking on a pound cake. </p>
<p>Barry nodded, a feeling of pride that everyone seemed to have heard about his success buoying him up. </p>
<p>"Nice work, man."</p>
<p>"Hey Kocher, you got that chilli and macaroni?" Ray asked, shouted over with a kind of vibrating hyperactive energy.</p>
<p>"Don't get it all over your face, Ray." Brad interjected wearily, knowing it was a futile request even as Kocher obligingly threw an MRE packet over to Ray.</p>
<p>Barry watched in disgusted fascination as Ray tore the packet open before tipping his head back and pouring the cold contents into his mouth like some kind of pelican; just as much of it spilled over his chin as actually made it in. </p>
<p>Brad was conferring with a corporal - Barry's friend Albert- for a moment while Kocher chastised Ray.</p>
<p>"Jesus Person, why can't you eat like a normal human being?"</p>
<p>Ray looked at him with mock outrage, his cheeks bulging with food so that he resembled some kind of filthy hamster. </p>
<p>Barry didn't know what it was about Ray that so firmly drew his attention, or why the almost obscene display made his mouth run a little dry. He turned his head when he heard someone in his team mention his name to a soft spoken corporal from the Recon team.</p>
<p>"-Berkman took out three of them, one after the other, just boom-boom-boom, no spotter. Fucking phenomenal man."</p>
<p>"What do you think about that Pappy?" </p>
<p>"That's some nice shooting for a lance-corporal." Pappy said, North Carolina accent thick. "What level are you at for your marksmanship qualification?" he asked Barry.</p>
<p>"Marksman." Barry said with a shrug.</p>
<p>"I'd consider requalifying when you get back to Pendleton."</p>
<p>"Yes sir." Barry sounded surprised that the other Marine thought he was that good. </p>
<p>"Alright guys, we're Oscar Mike." Brad announced, stalking back towards them. "Ray, clean your fucking face." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time Barry had qualified for his rifle and pistol expert badges it was two years later and he'd pretty much forgotten about meeting the Iceman. He was part of RCT-1, waiting at Camp Mathilda in Kuwait for orders sending them out into Iraq for what would become known as Operation Iraqi Freedom. </p>
<p>They were housed in huge tents alongside the Recon Marines who generally kept to themselves. The other grunts muttered about how Recon thought they were better than everyone else, but they couldn't hide the jealousy in their tone that suggested they thought the same. </p>
<p>Because of this, it was a surprise when Barry looked up from the guts of one of the vehicles to find a familiar Corporal walking towards him singing something by Nirvana.</p>
<p>"Hey, Barry Berkman!" he chirped, and Barry had a short moment of vertigo before his mind threw out the guy's name and when he'd last seen him.</p>
<p>"Ray?" </p>
<p>"Person. We met back in Afghanistan. Sangin?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, I remember." Vividly, and all of a sudden. Barry's heart rate ticked up looking at him and he couldn't figure out why. "What're you doing here?" </p>
<p>Ray sighed before opening the driver side door and leaning in. "I'm being pimped out." he said with a long-suffering tone. "Brad's whoring me out to check on RCT-1's radios. Don't worry, I told him he owes me a cut." He added with that Cheshire cat grin making a reappearance. </p>
<p>"You're good at this stuff, huh?"</p>
<p>"Fuck yeah homes! I can make this thing my bitch." Ray tossed back, already half-buried under wires.</p>
<p>Barry worked on in silence for a while - or as much silence as there could be with Ray persistently cycling through various nu-metal songs like a broken radio - before Ray reappeared, job apparently done, and came over to lean up against the side of the hood. </p>
<p>"Hey man, has anyone ever told you that you look kinda familiar?" </p>
<p>Barry raised an eyebrow in question and Ray continued. </p>
<p>"I dunno homes, I just feel like I know you from somewhere. Were you ever in Missouri before this?"</p>
<p>"No, I'm from Cleveland. But I moved to California when I was 16 and ended up at Camp Pendleton."</p>
<p>"Huh. Maybe I just know you from Basic?"</p>
<p>Barry couldn't say, but he felt the same thing too, like he knew Ray and well. He hadn't been able to place Ray before seeing him in passing at Camp Pendleton though and so he just wrote it off as Ray having one of those faces. It didn't help that he thought Ray was kind of cute, but it certainly wasn't because he had some kind of crush of the guy. </p>
<p>He wasn't stupid enough to disclose his sexuality in an environment of alpha males and DADT, but he hadn't completely suppressed that part of himself. </p>
<p>"Well, see you around man." Ray said after a beat of slightly awkward silence. </p>
<p>"Yeah, see you around." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sergeant Berkman." Barry corrected and Brad raised an eyebrow. </p>
<p>"Good for you." he stated, but he didn't shift his aim. He reached carefully to a radio at his shoulder and spoke into it all while keeping an eye on Barry.</p>
<p>"Echo-Four-Romeo, abort, over." </p>
<p>There was a moment before a voice came back over the line, hushed but audible. "Roger." </p>
<p>Barry didn't have to be watching to know that the black-clad form in Fuches' house was sneaking back out. </p>
<p>"Hey man, I'm not a threat to you." </p>
<p>Brad looked sceptical at that, but reached a foot out to kick Barry's gun out of his range and then tipped the point of his own gun to indicate that Barry should start moving. He did as he'd been told, hands up the whole time, until he was far enough away from his gun that Brad felt comfortable, although it was only shown by a softening in the line of his shoulders; the gun didn't move from its aim at Barry's head. </p>
<p>They were at a stand-off for a few more minutes before someone spoke behind Barry; they'd approached silently, just as stealthy as Brad had been. </p>
<p>"Yo homes, what's going on?" </p>
<p>Barry knew immediately who that voice belonged to. </p>
<p>"Hey Ray." he said carefully.</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence before Ray came around and saw his face. "Barry Berkman?" </p>
<p>"Sergeant Berkman." Brad said, his lips quirking like he thought it was funny.</p>
<p>Ray rolled his eyes. "Fuck you Brad, we got out, that shit doesn't matter anymore."</p>
<p>"You're just butt hurt because you're stuck at Corporal." </p>
<p>Ray made a face and Barry had to interject before the argument went on any further. "Can I put my hands down now?" </p>
<p>"Ray." Brad said shortly, all business again, and Ray similarly moved to pick up Barry's gun before frisking him briefly; they clearly weren’t underestimating Barry’s capabilities.</p>
<p>"He's clean." Ray reported and Brad lowered his gun, nodding at Barry who lowered his arms with relief. </p>
<p>"What are you doing here Berkman?" Brad asked in that detached Iceman manner.</p>
<p>Considering that Barry had caught Ray in the process of breaking into Fuches' place armed, he didn't think that there was any need to try and hide what he was doing.</p>
<p>"I've got dibs on the guy in the house." </p>
<p>"Monroe Fuches?" 	</p>
<p>Barry nodded. Brad and Ray shared a glance during which they seemed to hold an entire conversation before addressing that. </p>
<p>"Sorry homes, but we got here first." Ray said, although he sounded genuinely apologetic in his defence. "Bounty's ours."</p>
<p>"You can keep the money." Barry said seriously, his eyes darkening. "This kill’s personal."</p>
<p>The pair shared one of those looks again during which Ray shrugged and Brad tilted his head in an 'I guess' gesture. </p>
<p>"Okay. You schwack the guy, we'll get proof of death and then the money." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Barry wasn't sure how he felt after it was done.</p>
<p>He watched silently as Ray slipped back into the house to remove an index finger to be sent as evidence that the hit had been carried out. Barry could feel Brad's eyes on him against the side of his face, but the tall blond didn't say anything.</p>
<p>"Hey homes, you doing anything else tonight?" </p>
<p>Barry blinked; he hadn't even noticed Ray making his way back, casually stripping out of his black mission clothes to stuff them into a backpack held out by Brad. Ray dug through it to find a band t-shirt and a grey hoodie and started changing; Barry had to look away fast to avoid anyone noticing the way he stared at Ray's tattoos and briefly bared skin.</p>
<p>He shook his head, still feeling slightly numb. Ray looked to Brad briefly and then back to Barry. </p>
<p>"Wanna get a drink?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Barry found that drinking with Brad and Ray was a lot like drinking with his former platoon, if a little less violent and a little more civilised. The trio had a lot in common and had a lot of similar experiences in the same places; they talked over their time in Afghanistan and in Iraq, mainly Baqubah. </p>
<p>He found himself watching Ray without thinking, entranced by the way his cheeks rosied up the more he drank, those stupid bambi eyes that had no business being on a real human face and that out-of-regs flop of dark hair. </p>
<p>Ray’s t-shirt was large enough that it rode low on his neck to show striptease flashes of tattoos underneath, and that just wasn’t fair. </p>
<p>Ray seemed happy to have found someone who hadn’t already heard all his bad jokes and hadn’t been exposed to him long enough to want to throttle him. Barry was so occupied with looking and pretending he wasn’t looking at Ray that he didn’t notice that Brad had caught him. </p>
<p>Luckily for Barry, Brad was more interested in getting drunk than calling out the mating habits of his tipsy co-workers. </p>
<p>The relative calm of their night out surprised Barry, who expected two Recon Marines to be more boisterous. </p>
<p>Then they moved the three man party to the motel. </p>
<p>Of course they’d kept a low profile when out at the bar; all three of them were contract killers, the last thing they needed was to end up arrested for being drunk and disorderly. Behind closed doors they were as aggressively rowdy as any other Marine. </p>
<p>Brad and Barry were neck and neck as far as drinks went, and while Ray was keeping up admirably he was still a short-arsed little scrap of a Marine and was quickly getting legless. </p>
<p>“So… Barry, so, this Fuches guy.” He stated and then blinked out of sync as he tried to focus, seemingly of the belief that he’d asked a question. </p>
<p>Even if he hadn’t, Barry still felt himself tense out of the soft alcohol-relaxed state he’d been in, a curdled feeling curling unpleasantly in his stomach. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” he asked instead, hoping that ignoring that feeling would make it disappear. </p>
<p>“So, what <i>about</i> him.” Ray didn’t-ask again. </p>
<p>Barry looked to Brad who was wilfully and purposely being of no help, pretending he had to concentrate on pouring himself another whisky. </p>
<p>“I don’t really wanna talk about it.” He said finally, looking deflated enough that even Ray caught it.</p>
<p>“Okay. ‘m sorry.” Ray sounded sincere, so Barry could only put it down the encroaching alcohol poisoning when he then said, “But he deserved it, right?” </p>
<p>Barry drained his glass, half to buy himself some time and half to calm down. He could continue to say nothing and brush Ray’s questioning off – the guy was having trouble keeping both eyes open at the same time and how the fuck was that still attractive, fuck him – or he could let out a little of everything he’d held inside for so long. </p>
<p>He’d spent so much time hiding the bloody, violent side of himself, the side that was actually growing tired of taking lives for cash but was apparently still too feral to be let out around the people who considered him a friend. </p>
<p>Brad and Ray were killers just like he was, both in the sense that they’d been the attack dogs of the government and because they’d gone on to apply those skills to a niche market.</p>
<p>If he could talk to anyone about what he’d been through these guys might be it. If anything, he was worried that they wouldn’t understand his hesitation, his guilt and the connection he’d had to the other actors. That was just more of his dichotomy: too soft for killers, too animal for civilians.</p>
<p>Brad was still quiet, nursing the drink that would probably be his last of the night and carefully giving Barry the space to talk if he wanted to. They had blackmail material on each other now, and that alone would let Barry say what he had to.</p>
<p>For his part, Ray was still upright, mostly upright, seated on the end of one of the beds, slumping but propped up on his arms behind him. He slipped his tongue over his top lip briefly like he was trying to check if his numb mouth was still there - and fuck if that didn’t make something in Barry’s blood run hot – but his eyes were a little glassy. </p>
<p>Ray probably wouldn’t remember this in the morning, and Brad’s gently permissive patience at his side was enough to push him into talking. </p>
<p>“He fucked me over.” He said eventually. “Fuches was my handler. He was the only one there for me when I… got out of the Corps. He found this life for me, he kept me paid, kept me safe. And then he fucked me over because he got jealous. And possessive. I was making a life away from him and he couldn’t handle it.” </p>
<p>He hoped that this would all be forgotten by morning, but Brad and Ray’s eyes were on him and clear, as though hearing this had sobered them up. </p>
<p>Talking about it had certainly sobered him.</p>
<p>“I dunno man. I thought I could just walk away from all this shit-” He indicated their lifestyle with a sweep of the beer bottle in his hand. “-but it always ends up pulling me back in.” He took a swig. “There was a girl. Kind of. Some of the time anyway. And friends, like, friends who thought we were family. Y’know? </p>
<p>But there was all this mess happening on the side with the Chechens and the Bolivians and the fucking Burmese mob and I had to shoot my mentor’s girlfriend because she was a cop and then Fuches exposed who I was to the guy because he was jealous and bitter and then the guy turns around and tells me to get out of town because he’s worried about some shady dude trying to frame me for a murder that he doesn’t know I actually committed.” </p>
<p>There was silence after that; there kind of had to be, Barry getting that off his chest had almost left no air in the room. </p>
<p> “And I never got to act on stage properly either.” He ended.</p>
<p>Brad looked over as Ray looked up at him, eyebrows raised. </p>
<p>“Fuck homes.” He said, his voice sounding clear. “That is some fucked up shit.” </p>
<p>Brad didn’t seem to have much to add to that and the silence returned, maybe a little awkward until Ray broke it again.</p>
<p>“You wanna go back and shoot him some more?” </p>
<p>Barry snorted, the sound startled out of him and only partly because he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t start crying otherwise. It still hadn’t fully sunk in that he had just killed the only man who had ever given a fuck about him, the man who had made the incident at Korengal go away, who had been by his side looking out for him ever since. </p>
<p>That he was also the man who had kept Barry in the life he didn’t want to lead for his own satisfaction, who had ruined his relationship with Gene and who had betrayed him just made things worse. </p>
<p>He’d let the white blindness of his earlier rage propel him across country to hunt down and kill Fuches, but since that rage lifted he felt lost. The death of the man he mourned had come at his hands, and he still felt good about destroying it despite everything.</p>
<p>There was so much more he wanted to say about everything he’d been through since he’d joined Gene’s acting class but he didn’t know if he could tell these people.</p>
<p>The decision was made for him when Ray passed out completely and fell back onto the bed, snoring once he’d landed as drunks tend to do. </p>
<p>The incongruity of Ray blacking out while Barry wrestled with a topic that hurt so much brought a somewhat helpless laugh to his lips, something he barely managed to keep from becoming hysterical. </p>
<p>Brad laughed too, but it sounded more like an annoyed groan. He got up and dragged Ray bodily up the bed so that his feet weren’t on the floor anymore. Barry watched as Brad pulled off Ray’s shoes before turning him gently into the recovery position. The snoring stopped but Ray wasn’t any less passed out. </p>
<p>“Despite being nursed and raised on the 90-proof dregs of some whiskey-tango bathtub still, he remains a pussy lightweight.” Brad commented drily. It was still fond the way all of Brad’s impressive and intricate insults towards Ray had been that evening. “One more?”</p>
<p>Even without the copious amounts of alcohol that Barry had imbibed, the conversation he’d had would still have made him feel nauseous and off-centre. </p>
<p>“Nah man, I think I’ll go to bed. Find some place still open, get a room.” </p>
<p>Brad looked unimpressed, stripping his t-shirt up and over his head and Barry knew there was something wrong when the sight of all that muscle and tanned skin didn’t do as much for him as impossible anime eyes and cock tease tattoos. </p>
<p>“Take the other bed.” Brad all but ordered, indicating the second double in the room. “It won’t be the first time I’ve had to sleep next to this drunken little hick.”</p>
<p>“Thanks man.” Barry said, somewhat quietly, retreating to the bathroom while Brad fussed with his bags. </p>
<p>He was honestly grateful, but knowing that Brad and Ray were sharing a bed made something that felt spiky and green crawl under his skin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They must have been asleep for maybe three hours before a simultaneous hoarse gulp for air and a brief scream had Brad waking immediately. He was calm and almost serene the way he always was in these situations, as though his panic response was to be pressed into a little diamond of competence. </p>
<p>He functioned even better with a gun in his hand, and he’d armed himself in one smooth motion with a sidearm he’d tucked in the gap between the mattress and the headboard. </p>
<p>It took him only a moment to clear the room and conclude that he’d been woken by his two roommates. </p>
<p>Ray had been the one to wake screaming and he was sitting up in his now sweat-soaked t-shirt, panting. He groaned an ‘oh fuck’ before he was up and bolting in an uneven stumble for the bathroom, heralding the sound of violent vomiting. Lovely. </p>
<p>Brad turned his attention to Barry, who had woken with that tortured gasp for air. He looked pale and stark in the sparse light that filtered through the gaps in the curtains, one hand against his chest like that would calm his heaving breaths. </p>
<p>“Hey. You okay?” Brad asked, the same concern in his voice as he’d had for the men under his command when he was still serving. </p>
<p>Barry nodded, although it didn’t look convincing, and Brad got up to dig up three bottles of water he’d had the foresight to buy along with all the booze. </p>
<p>He threw one over to Barry who just about managed to catch it, opening it and gulping almost half of it down at once. </p>
<p>Brad sipped a mouthful of his, screwing the lid back on and placing it on the nightstand before breaking the seal on Ray’s bottle as they heard the toilet flush, holding it out to be taken as Ray made his way back to the bed. </p>
<p>Brad couldn’t tell if Ray was hanging or still drunk. </p>
<p>“Fuck, homes.” Ray groaned, sitting up enough to drink the water, if drinking meant pouring half of it down his chest.</p>
<p>Barry was feeling too sick to appreciate the sight. Okay, maybe he could appreciate it a little over the rhythmic headache and swirling nausea. </p>
<p>Ray flopped onto his back and hung an arm over his eyes. “I dreamt I was falling through this old house, through all these wooden floors, and when I finally hit the bottom my arm broke. Just, snap.” </p>
<p>“I dreamt I was falling too.” Barry added. “But I was falling down this old well. I didn’t hit the bottom, but there were these glowing yellow lights blinding me. I felt like something was eating me.” </p>
<p>“Fuck man.” Ray groaned again. “What the fuck was in that tequila?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Barry woke for the second time as though he’d never been asleep, like he’d just switched off like a computer, power out. His head still hurt, although less so than when he’d woken during the night and probably due to the water he’d had; his stomach was still a seething mass of sickness.</p>
<p>He absolutely didn’t make a pitiful sound as he turned onto his side, and neither did he curl up a little because of his nausea. He got up slowly and managed to both make it into the bathroom and lock the door before he dropped to his knees to throw up in the toilet. </p>
<p>He took a moment to wipe his face, rinse his mouth out and then smear some toothpaste against his teeth in lieu of a toothbrush before gingerly heading back out. </p>
<p>He stood silently in his slightly rumpled trousers, leaning against the doorframe with the light from the bathroom behind him, watching the pair on the bed. </p>
<p>Like Barry, Ray had curled up in his sleep, his shape small in the bed. Unlike Barry, Ray had shuffled himself up against Brad’s bare skin and all that warmth. Brad was sleeping mostly on his front but still had an arm draped over Ray’s waist; it was all very domestic and almost intimate.</p>
<p>Barry hadn’t realised he’d had his hopes up until he felt them fall. </p>
<p>He also hadn’t realised that his focus had been on Ray until he looked at Brad only to find the Iceman staring steadily back at him. His eyes widened and he couldn’t seem to move away until Brad said a silent ‘hey’ with a subtle uptick of his chin. </p>
<p>Barry returned it with a nod of his own before silently gathering his shirt and shoes, redressing as quietly as he could, which was pretty damn quiet considering he’d been a Marine. </p>
<p>Brad had closed his eyes at some point, but he watched again as Barry made for the door. Barry lifted his hand in a slight wave and Brad nodded again before Barry slipped out into the punishing light of the motel corridor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ray woke up and wished he hadn’t. He was too hot pressed up against what he was sure was Brad’s gargantuan frame but he was also too hungover to move. The nausea wasn’t so bad but he had a vicious headache and even the dim light that snuck in around the curtains was too much for him. At least he didn’t have to get up for PT unlike his time in the Marines. </p>
<p>Brad didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get up, although Ray could tell he was at least half-awake by the rhythm of his breathing. He kept his eyes closed and tried to let the pain in his head ebb into the background. </p>
<p>Last night had been unusually fun. Contract killing tended to be a lonely life, especially when you were a team of two. The close quarters of riding in the Humvee through the invasion of Iraq had pretty much turned any real friction between them to a comfortable occasional rumble, mostly just going through the motions. </p>
<p>Thankfully, although their actual fights could be bright and nasty, they were also brief and rare.</p>
<p>Their lifestyle didn’t have much room for hanging out with friends, or even really having friends, and after living on top of other Marines for months Ray found himself missing that easy brotherhood with other people. </p>
<p>He was garrulous even off the stimulants that had carried him through Operation Iraqi Freedom and he knew he ended up irritating Brad when the poor guy was the only person around for his rants. </p>
<p>They’d brushed shoulders with other contract killers before and while they were often former servicemen and women there was always a tension there. They were competitors in an underground business and no one really trusted anyone else. </p>
<p>Barry was different because they’d worked more closely with him than any other contract killer they’d come across; they knew Barry from his military days, and the fact that he’d let them take the reward for a hit he’d carried out did a lot to endear him to them. </p>
<p>Brad had been unconcerned, easy and companionable by his side and that in turn put Ray at ease.</p>
<p>With all that aside, Ray couldn’t deny there was an attraction there that went beyond having a new victim to talk at, making old conversations new. He clearly had a thing for tall guys who weren’t just tall in comparison to him, and Barry was only a few inches shy of Brad. </p>
<p>He knew Brad was going to mock him relentlessly for the way he couldn’t stop staring at Barry’s shoulders, his arms, his big square hands and long fingers. Brad had, in fact, raised an eyebrow Ray’s way in a brief moment when Ray looked away from Barry and Ray knew he was going to suffer for this. </p>
<p>And yet he still couldn’t stop himself staring. </p>
<p>Barry was different when he wasn’t serious and sombre and killing a man. He had a grin to match Ray’s own and a dry delivery to his jokes that Ray loved. </p>
<p>Ray even liked his stupid beautiful eyebrows and his dumbass cheekbones and the way his forehead wrinkled when he looked up and Jesus fuck, Brad was going to tear him <i>apart</i> for this one. The carnage would be gleeful. </p>
<p>They took Barry back to their motel and Ray had to summon all his Marine skills, including his SERE training, to stop himself climbing onto Barry’s lap – at that point he realised he’d crossed over from drunk to too drunk.</p>
<p>Sitting on the bed was much safer than sitting on Barry, and probably much more comfortable too, probably. Thinking back from a more sober point of view made him wince when he remembered pushing on the sore point that was Barry’s connection to their target. </p>
<p>Brad was right, he could be a real dick when he let his mouth run away with him. It wasn’t like him to be self-conscious or insecure, but something about Barry made him feel dumb and awkward.</p>
<p>He felt like he’d been too mouthy and too loud, over the top and obvious and that all he’d managed to do was make an idiot of himself, and not on purpose this time either.</p>
<p>“Ray? You awake? You better not puke on me you lightweight whiskey-tango trailer park reject.” </p>
<p>Ray huffed a laugh but didn’t move. </p>
<p>“Don’t bother calling in a cas-evac Brad, it’s too late for me.” He groaned. </p>
<p>Brad huffed - unimpressed or amused, Ray struggled to tell - before he sat up and dislodged Ray as he did. Ray flopped dead weight onto his back with a pitiful sound that did absolutely nothing to melt the Iceman’s heart. </p>
<p>He heard Brad go into the bathroom and drifted in a half-sleep for a minute or two before a towel hit his head. </p>
<p>“Get up, you need a shower.”</p>
<p>Fucking Brad. “Barry?” he questioned in a mumble, unwilling to rise for as long as possible. </p>
<p>“He left this morning while <i>some</i> people were still passed out cold.” Ray felt disappointed at that. He tried to keep it from Brad but failed miserably. </p>
<p>Either that or Brad just knew him too well. “Don’t worry your inbred pre-natal alcohol damaged tiny brain about it, Ray. I’m sure we’ll cross paths with your boyfriend again eventually.” </p>
<p>There was actually more reassurance in that than Ray had expected, and he responded by sighing heavily and dramatically and rolling off the bed. </p>
<p>“I hate you.” He grumbled, shoulder checking Brad amiably on his way into the bathroom. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Brad knew, from personal experience, that nightmares weren’t unusual for anyone serving in the military, but this was ridiculous. </p>
<p>Ray had been waking up with screaming nightmares every night since the Fuches job, and as much as it was starting to worry Brad he was also just exhausted from not getting any sleep. </p>
<p>They usually booked a hotel room together, one or two beds, it didn’t matter, but Brad had been forced to get separate rooms lately because Ray’s dreams were that frequent. </p>
<p>The first few times they’d happened, Brad had reached over to wake Ray up or pet Ray’s hair while still half-asleep, telling him it was just a dream and to go back to bed.</p>
<p>When it was clear they were going to happen almost every night he’d started pretending he hadn’t woken up, turning away from Ray and trying to get back to sleep. It didn’t help much because he couldn’t help staying up and listening to Ray shudder himself awake, or get up and shower in the middle of the night. </p>
<p>It both was and wasn’t easier when he started booking a room next door; he felt like he was abandoning Ray and seeing him for breakfast in the mornings looking punched out and wrecked made him feel a cold, shivering guilt. </p>
<p>Ray told him he understood. It wasn’t just bad for Brad’s health, it was bad for business when neither of them were in any condition to carry out a hit. Brad had a suspicion that Ray had started chowing down on straight instant coffee to keep himself awake again.</p>
<p>Things came to a head when a bottle of Ripped Fuel started making a reappearance. They weren’t headed into enemy territory anymore; Ray didn’t need to spend all of his time sleep-deprived but unable to sleep, shuddering from chemically-induced insomnia on top of losing weight he didn’t have. </p>
<p>Brad all but bullied Ray into talking about his dreams. They weren’t Marines anymore but despite their closeness there was still some reluctance to admit to weakness that had been instilled into them during training.</p>
<p>Brad persisted, positing the idea that maybe talking about them would stop them from happening and Ray, rapidly wearing down, agreed. </p>
<p>He had dreams that he was back in Iraq and on point for the whole battalion, driving them all headfirst over a cliff; he’d be falling and then suddenly he was crashing through wooden floors again only to break his arm when he hit ground. </p>
<p>He had dreams of the indistinct shape of a large woman towering over him, force-feeding him Ripped Fuel while crying and telling him she loved him; he’d gag on the smell of antiseptic and shrink as she grew until she’d eventually swallow him whole. </p>
<p>He had dreams that he was riding in the Humvee with Brad and Trombley, the Reporter and Walt, and they were talking to him but he couldn’t hear a word they said. He was frantically trying to repair the radio in front of him but it had teeth and would snap and bite at him. </p>
<p>Eventually he’d realise that the people in the Humvee were kids he didn’t know – a girl with red hair, a boy with a kind face – a pair of rain boots and a yellow raincoat, and he finally got the radio working only to hear them screaming. </p>
<p>Finally, and most often, he dreamed of an orange-haired clown with high eyebrows, a red line of a grin and a pale face. Its mouth would unhinge and he’d see rows of teeth standing up like bayonets before he woke up, screaming every time. </p>
<p>He’d been reluctant to tell Brad that one; he wasn’t a child, he shouldn’t be having nightmares about clowns, and he’d suspected that Brad would make fun of him for doing so. </p>
<p>It spoke to how harrowed and shaken he’d been, when he stumbled over his words to explain, that Brad had just listened, stone-faced. </p>
<p>Some of it made sense - the Humvee, the radio, the Ripped Fuel - but where did the kids fit in? The wooden floors? That fucking clown? </p>
<p>As Brad kept saying: “What the fuck, Ray?”</p>
<p>They were technically equal partners in their business, but it was difficult to throw off the dynamics of Sergeant and Corporal, so Ray had little to say about it when Brad announced they were going on hiatus. Hell, he was probably too tired to argue. </p>
<p>They retired to a cabin in the mountains, somewhere almost off grid, and it seemed that something about the location helped douse Ray’s nightmares a little – they still happened but less often and Ray wasn’t waking up screaming every other night. At that point, Brad would take any little victory he could get. </p>
<p>Brad had been re-reading Kautilya’s Arthashastra on Eastern military strategies one night in the cabin, when he was suddenly straddled by the bane of his existence.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Clever little raccoon hands ran up his chest and plucked his book away to set it down on the bedside table before coming up to rest on Brad’s chest.</p>
<p>Brad sighed but lay his own hands on Ray’s thighs where they were splayed over his lap. “Hi.”</p>
<p>“Hey, Brad.” Ray repeated.</p>
<p>Brad raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Ray.”</p>
<p>“Wanna fuck?” </p>
<p>That wasn’t really what Brad had been expecting. There had been something on edge and wild about Ray these last few months, of course brought on by lack of sleep; it made Brad short-tempered and meanly sarcastic a lot of the time, but on occasion he was compelled to be careful with Ray, as though he’d crack otherwise. </p>
<p>He ran his hands up and down Ray’s legs, more to reassure than anything sensual. </p>
<p>“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to parse out what was firing off in Ray’s head now. </p>
<p>Ray bowed his head and sighed heavily, but didn’t move his hands. “I was just thinking. If you fuck me, like, really wear me out, then maybe-“</p>
<p>“-maybe you could get some sleep.” Brad finished for him. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Ray nodded and suddenly looked hopeless and miserable. </p>
<p>Brad and Ray had tried dating after Iraq but it hadn’t worked out; they were somehow almost too close to each other to be able to have a romantic relationship. That didn’t mean they didn’t fuck around with each other now and again; they still worked in an isolated fashion and one-night stands had a way of getting messy. </p>
<p>Ray would flirt, because Ray flirted with anyone and anything, and Brad would sigh dismissively and insult Ray’s parentage, intelligence and origins, but the almost intimate easiness between them wasn’t actually romantic. </p>
<p>Barry had seen them together, seen their interaction and interpreted it incorrectly, but then the relationship between Brad and Ray was so unique that he couldn’t be blamed for thinking they were together. </p>
<p>Brad studied Ray for a moment and noticed how very tired he looked, before grabbing hold of Ray’s ass and falling forward, pushing Ray back and underneath him on the mattress. He hitched Ray’s legs around his hips a little and leaned in to kiss him, fond and soothing. </p>
<p>“Yeah, okay Ray.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t work. </p>
<p>Ray woke with his now customary scream, lashed out and smacked Brad hard across the chest with the full dead weight of his arm.</p>
<p>“Jesus, fuck!” Brad shouted, jolting up from sleep but retaining his situational awareness enough to realise it was just Ray freaking out and not some enemy sneaking up on him.</p>
<p>Ray hyperventilated, struggling against nothing and Brad shook him, hard. “Ray, wake the fuck up!”</p>
<p>He responded to the command in Brad’s voice and sat up out of sleep, still panting. </p>
<p>“Fuck.” He swore, broken and hoarse, his hands trembling.</p>
<p>Brad fell back on the bed with a groan, unhappy at being woken up at zero-fuck-thirty. He listened to Ray get up and go into the kitchen still nude, run the tap and return after a moment with a glass of water. </p>
<p>Minutes went by with Ray’s breathing returning to normal, the trembling easing out of his hands and Brad himself calming from the shock of a sudden blow in the middle of the night. </p>
<p>Ray put his glass to the side, sat with his knees up and rested his head in his hands, sighing, aggravated.</p>
<p>Brad waited a beat before asking, as he always did now. “What was it?” </p>
<p>Ray rubbed his hands over his face. “You remember the drain pipe exercise, in Basic?” </p>
<p>Brad nodded. The training exercise involved a drainpipe set into the ground and submerged in water. Recruits weren’t allowed to see where the pipe came out and had to travel through it in the dark, underwater, unsure of when the pipe would end. </p>
<p>It was a claustrophobic, uncomfortable experience and Ray bringing it up meant nothing good. </p>
<p>“I was going through that, but the pipe opened up at the other end into this kind of…” he gestured with his hands, indicating some kind of big space. “…like, big fucking cave sort of thing, man-made. I was up to my ankles in this grey water; maybe it was a sewer? Anyway, I was in this sewer place and then…” </p>
<p>He paused to run his hand through his hair in remembered anxiety and no small amount of frustration and Brad almost knew what he was going to say before he said it. </p>
<p>“…that <i>fucking</i> clown.” </p>
<p>“Ray.” Brad broached the topic. “We have to do something about these dreams. It’s not sustainable.” </p>
<p>Ray huffed sarcastically. “Really? Oh, I’m so glad you’re around, Brad, to tell me the fucking obvious or I might have missed it.” </p>
<p>Brad raised an eyebrow in Ray’s direction and watched as the anger drained back out of Ray’s body, deflating him. </p>
<p>“Shit, I’m sorry homes. I know I’m being a little bitch. I really am glad you’re still sticking around.” </p>
<p>“Semper fi.” Brad offered, nervous at the watery sound of Ray’s voice.  </p>
<p>“Oorah.” </p>
<p>There was a moment of silence and then Brad wordlessly reached out and smoothed his hand down the hard, unrelenting line of Ray’s back until Ray relaxed and lay back down next to Brad. </p>
<p>“I think I need to retire.” </p>
<p>The idea of doing this without his RTO at his side made Brad feel like the rug had been pulled from under him, but he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t a good idea. At least for their safety and for Ray’s health, such as it was.</p>
<p>They’d been lucky up to now, but how long until Ray’s sleep deprivation led him to make a sloppy mistake? What happened when they sleepwalked into a situation that Brad couldn’t get them out of? </p>
<p>Brad didn’t say anything, but when Ray turned over and against his side, he slung an arm over Ray’s shoulders and didn’t really need to.</p>
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